Gideon Guts, 98th Arcadian Hell Marines
by Angry Flashlight
Summary: The Imperial Guard, made up of billions of men, from a million planets.They form the backbone of the Imperium of Man and contend with its deadliest threats with flak jackets, las guns, bayonets, and guts.Can one man hope to make a difference, even to live


**Gideon Guts**

Chapter 1: Omesa II

The screech of the whistle can be heard along the trenches of Omesa II. The whistle can only mean one thing; time to go over the trench and into "No Man's Land." Before Gideon hops over the trench he takes a look down both sides, trenches as far as the eye can see. Omesa II is one giant snowy plane and on a clear day you can actually see the trenches curving with the earth itself. Visibility is absolutely fragged to hell and if it wasn't for the Ork's rokkits, the trooper's would probably run in circles in the dense fog. Maybe the Emperor is on our side today.

A Commissar runs toward him, its Ranthad, how much I hate him. One day he will have an accident.

"Private Guts!" that's me, the bloody wanker, how dare he call me by my Emperor-given name. I hate his swagger; the arrogant ass talks a big game of serving the Emperor but refuses to lead a charge or even fight for that matter. I'm no coward, before he gets another word out of his pudgy mouth, how he is overweight when supplies have been basically cut off I'll never know, funny what you notice when you are about to put your life in the Emperor's hands; I hop the trench. I look back; he looks as if to give chase but thinks better of it. I'm glad my vox mic was broken when an Ork with a choppa got overexcited; I know he's trying to give me hell.

It is 600 meters to the Ork line; you'd assume that they would defend a fortified position, not Orks. I can already see their huge, stupid faces in the gloom ready to counter us.

Sergeant Granz of my platoon, gets behind a fallen tree maybe 400 meter's off the now oncoming wave of green skins, huge Ork shells whiz by, and they can't shoot for shit. Flan sets up the flamer. Why do we call him Flan, I should know we've been fighting together long enough. My platoon had 5 men (originally 20); I notice there are only 2 men at the tree. I look behind and I see Jose's body or what once was one laying in a heap. I don't see Johns, I hope for the best.

"Glad you made it Gideon," says Flan, our heavy weapons expert. We are lucky to have him.

"Frag you," I reply.

"Both of you hush, here the Orks come," Whispers Sarge. Why did he whisper, I don't know? Glad he was there though, I'd follow him to the end of the universe.

He's right though, the Orks are nearly at us. I send a prayer to the Emperor to let me fight another day as the wave hits our position along with those of the guard unfortunate enough not to have found cover in the plains. I'm probably being overly pessimistic; it's not nearly as hard as I'm making it out to be. Leman Russ tanks are scattered everywhere, good cover and nice and warm because most are still on fire.

All across this war torn stretch, a great cry passes every Guardsmen's lips:

"**FOR THE EMPEROR!!"**

The Orks are so packed together it is hard to miss, but the las guns have no stopping power. Gideon puts two bolts in the face of one Ork and the body doesn't realize its dead nor does its trigger finger as it does a turn around and the nerves pull the trigger one last time. The huge shells go through three other Orks, great mists of red spray out. Gideon can't even relish this gory victory, Flan, who is putting out huge amounts of suppressant fire and doing a great job of keeping some of the Orks at bay will eventually run out of gas or whatever the hell it fires.

Gideon taps his shoulder and briefly throws a grenade in the wave of green, while Flan puts another tank into the flamer. The heat when the trigger is pulled is exhilarating and the stench of frying Ork mingled with human blood, sweat, and feces, sends Gideon in a rage. Hopping from cover into the masses of Orks, Gideon cracks one Ork over the head with his lasgun while putting another last bolt in the groin of his buddy. The feeling is amazing; he's never felt so alive. "FOR ARCADIA AND FOR THE EMPERO-, an Ork with a cleaver puts it in between Gideon's shoulder blades. The blood rage that so controlled him and made him feel empowered turned into dread as he realizes that his life blood is flowing in great globules. Weakness is setting in. He's lost his comrades in the fray.

Another Ork notices that he isn't yet dead and raises a choppa the size of a land raider, over his head, the Ork lets loose a might roar and swings down. With his last bit of strength Gideon pulls the pin of a grenade in the flak jacket and lunges to meet his attackers chopper. The explosion, cold, blackness….

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Hope you guys liked it. I'll try and write the next chapter tomorrow. Oh and please review, be as rough as you want to be 


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